He Made My Bed
by Rogue28
Summary: Sydney learns that a simple act of kindness in a crazy world can make all the difference. Sweiss. Challenge fic for Supernova (see profile for link).


**Title**: He Made My Bed  
**Author**: Rogue28  
**Ships**: Sweiss  
**Disclaimer**: I'm just playing in the sandbox. If I was making any money off of this, I'd be writing like crazy.  
**Archive:** Cross-posted to Supernova (see profile for link) and sd-1.net. Everyone else, please ask.  
**Summary**: My response to the Supernova challenge. From Syd's POV. Also, this was written BEFORE the season finale, so it's AU. Especially as I don't know what happened in the last episode because the episode didn't freaking tape!! So spoilers up to the last episode of Season 3.

He made my bed.

I'd raced out of my apartment the morning before when Dixon called me into headquarters that morning. I hadn't even bothered to find one of my business suits—I'd been lucky to even find my discarded bra from the day before that.

Weiss and Vaughn were already there. Vaughn barely gave me a glance. Eric gave me a smile and a cup of coffee. "Looks like you ran here."

"I don't know how you got here before I did," I said, smoothing the wrinkles from my khakis. "I barely had time to brush my teeth. Breakfast and making my bed had to wait for later."

He smiled, a smile that belied the anxiousness we all felt at a five-thirty call from Dixon himself.

"Sydney, Weiss," Dixon said, nearly brushing Eric as he passed us by. "Briefing room. We've found Lauren."

Weiss blew out his breath as we followed Dixon. "This is going to be anything but good."

Dad was dressed and ready and I didn't even see a cup of coffee at his spot on the table. "We've got a location on Lauren in London. We believe he's meeting Lauren at the Reed's summer home outside of London."

"I've been there," Vaughn said. "But it's been over a year. I don't know if Lauren has put any new security measures in."

"Why would Lauren go back to her house?" I asked. "That doesn't seem very smart. Shouldn't we have taken custody of that?"

"The house belonged to Mrs. Reed. With her dual citizenship, and to all appearances, uninvolvement with the Covenant, the NSC and British Intelligence decided against it."

"I can't believe that," Vaughn exploded. "Why was the NSC in charge of this? The CIA—"

"The Senate oversight committee got involved, as did a few people higher-up in the food chain," Dixon interrupted. "And in any case, that's a discussion for another day. Sydney, you and Vaughn will go to London and apprehend Lauren. Weiss will run ops from here. Your plane leaves in an hour."

Vaughn was out of his seat and through the door, and I watched my father go after him.

"While I'm sure that Jack is threatening Michael with his life right now, keep an eye on him, Sydney. Lauren is no good to us dead," Dixon said, before following my father from the room.

Weiss blew out his breath again. "Well, that's interesting."

I nodded, turning to leave. "Syd, wait a second.," he said. I glanced back over my shoulder, and I could see him biting his lip in hesitation. "Syd, be careful. Vaughn—he's not—he's—"

I rested a hand on his upper arm. "I know." He looked relieved that he didn't have to say what we were both thinking. "I'll be careful."

"That's all I ask for," he replied.

I was exhausted and hungry by the end of my debriefing, but not so tired that I wouldn't have been alarmed when I arrived home and found my door unlocked. The smell of Janice Weiss' homemade secret family recipe spaghetti sauce soothed my frayed nerves.

"Eric?" I called, setting my bag at the front door, and thanking heaven that Janice had taught her son to cook.

"In here," he called, and I strolled into the kitchen to find him bent over the New York Times crossword puzzle, a pot of water rapidly boiling, evidently waiting for my arrival as the sauce simmered on the stove top.

I sighed and say down on one of the bar stools. "That smells heavenly."

He grinned, pushing the crossword puzzle away from him and reaching for the box of vermicelli noodles. "Good. It's supposed to."

He spilled the noodles into the pot and began to spoon garlic butter over slices of French bread. I watched him, exhausted enough that I barely realized I was mesmerized by his movements. "You okay?"

I sighed. "I—no. He's gone."

He kept carefully spooning butter onto the bread, not meeting my gaze. "And?"

"And nothing. He's gone, and I couldn't have stopped him from going after Lauren if I'd wanted to." I leaned over and rested my head on my hands. "We tried. That's all we could do. But the choice was Vaughn's and we couldn't make it for him. But I've never seen him that angry before. It's not something I want to see again." The image of Vaughn's furious face behind the gun he had pointed at me kept appearing in my head. I didn't believe he would have shot me, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that he might have if I hadn't backed down.

My father was going to have few choice words to say about that if Vaughn ever showed up again.

He laid down his spoon and sighed. "You're right. All we can do is hope that he hasn't done something really, really stupid. Like pissing Jack off."

It coaxed a small smile from me, and I nodded. "I'm going to go change out of these clothes. I'll be right back."

He gave me a smile. "I'll be here."

I pulled my sweater off over my head as I walked back to my bedroom. I stopped in the doorway. The bed was made.

I blinked. Smooth comforter, pillows thrown up against the headboard, the extra afghan I kept at the foot of the bed folded in a reasonable fashion.

I went to drop my sweater in the laundry basket in front of my dresser and noticed the sheets crumpled in it, sheets I recognized from when I'd left my room the morning before.

I picked up one of the pillows, and buried my face in it, inhaling the clean scent of my laundry detergent. The shams were off, and placed over the back of the chair, and I struggled not to laugh, wondering how long it took Eric to give up on trying to put the shams back on.

I gently laid the pillow back down and pulled on a pair of jogging pants and a T-shirt before padding out to the kitchen in my socks.

"Eric?" I said slowly. "Did you make my bed?"

He looked up, startled. "Um, yeah. You're not mad I went in there, are you?"

I shook me head. "No, of course not. Thank you." On impulse, I stood up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "It's very sweet. I appreciate it."

He smiled. "No problem. Except for those big pillow things. I can hit a moving target with most kinds of ammunition from 1000 yards away, but I could not figure out how to put those on."

I laughed as he turned to get some plates. "There's a trick to it. Maybe I'll show you sometime." By the time he turned back around, his blush was mostly under control. "That looks delicious."

He grinned, proving once again there is no better way to a man's heart than complimenting his culinary skills. "Let's eat."


End file.
